Blood
by The Fallen Sky
Summary: Grief is a powerful emotion, and, sometimes, it's too much to bear.


Title: Blood  
Author: The Fallen Sky  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Chlark  
Summary: Grief is a powerful emotion, and, sometimes, it's too much to bear.  
Warning: Includes some potentially disturbing images and themes as well as character death.  
A/N: This story is set at the beginning of Season 8 but is very AU. Clark is shot through the heart by Oliver's arrow at the Black Creek facility, but Manhunter doesn't show up to save him. Instead, Clark dies. The story deals with the aftermath, focusing on Chloe, and is told from her POV.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy.

* * *

Blood.

It's on my hands, staining them red.

I'm transfixed by the color, so harsh against the pale white of my skin.

For a moment, I forget the gruesome morbidity of what's on my hands and find a certain...beauty in it. It's such a lovely shade of red, after all.

The more I look at it, the more it reminds me of Clark's favorite jacket.

Red always was one of Clark's favorite colors.

Clark...

His name brings me back from my inane inner ramblings, and I remember that the red stain on my hands is his blood...

Clark's blood.

He's dead.

Clark's dead.

He died in my arms.

I watched him bleed to death, watched his life slowly slip away, helpless to do anything, helpless to save him.

I was certain that I could save him...so was he, which is why he begged me not to.

It hurt...him begging me not to save him. I understand why he did it; he didn't want me to sacrifice myself for him, trade my life for his.

Looking back, it's actually kinda romantic, not to mention noble and heroic.

He's not the only one who can make romantic, noble and heroic gestures, though.

I'd gladly sacrifice myself for him, and he knows it..._knew_ it.

Sadly, I didn't get the chance. My healing power didn't work. The one time I needed it and actually wanted it, the damned thing didn't work. I swear, I could hear fate laughing at me as I held my hand against his bloody chest and nothing happened.

I still remember the relief in his eyes when I didn't...couldn't heal him. It was hard to see through all the fear and anguish, but it was there.

I wanted to hate him for being relieved that he'd die instead of me, but I couldn't...because I was relieved, too.

I was relieved because I knew he'd finally be at peace, that he wouldn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore, wouldn't be crushed by fate and destiny.

Better to watch him die quickly than watch him die slowly, his soul evaporating into the ether, burned away by the evils of a cruel world that would demand everything of him but return little if anything.

It still hurt.

It hurt to watch him suffer.

It hurt to watch his life slip away as the blood poured from his chest.

It hurt to know that I wouldn't see him smile again, wouldn't hear him laugh again, wouldn't hear him complain about his pathetic love life again, wouldn't hear him ask for my help again, wouldn't feel his arms around me as he hugged me again, wouldn't smell his familiar scent of soap and hay and something uniquely Clark again, wouldn't feel the warmth of his love again, or see the light in his eyes; the light that gave me hope when I didn't think there was any to be had ever again.

And that's when it hit me, really hit me, that he'd be gone...forever.

Tears filled my eyes, and my voice broke as I whimpered his name one last time.

He must have known my heart was breaking, that part of me was dying along with him, because he cupped my cheek, looked me in the eye and whispered my name.

He smiled then, a weak, shaky smile, but a genuine one. I couldn't help but smile back, equally as weak and shaky, but also genuine.

For a moment, I actually felt like things were going to be okay, that _I'd_ be okay.

And then the moment passed.

His smile faded, his hand dropped to the ground, his breathing slowed and eventually stopped, and the light in his eyes dimmed until the final spark of life winked out of existence.

He was gone.

My best friend, the man that I had loved since the moment I first laid eyes on him, was gone.

My tears fell in earnest, then, wetting his face and making it appear as if he was crying, too.

I took his face in my hands, felt the smooth skin and the slight roughness of his stubble beneath my fingers and against my palms. I wanted to remember that feeling.

I leaned down and placed a tender kiss upon his lips, tasting the salt of my own tears, feeling the softness of his lips, the lingering warmth of the last kiss I'd ever share with him. I wanted to remember that feeling.

I pulled back from the kiss and just stared at his face, taking in every line, every blemish, committing every detail to memory, because I never wanted to forget his face, the face of the man that I loved.

It's only been a few hours since he died, and I can still feel his face in my hands, can still feel his lips against mine, can still see his beautiful face when I close my eyes.

My tears have long since stopped, as has the pain in my chest, the pain of my heart shattering into a million pieces. All I feel now is an all consuming numbness, a detachment from the world around me, and I kinda like it. It's certainly better than the alternative.

Of course, my behavior is worrisome to both Lois and Oliver, especially Lois.

She knows how much Clark meant to me, and she was expecting a much different reaction than me sitting silently in one of the passenger seats of Oliver's private jet, staring at the dried blood on my hands...Clark's blood.

She's tried to talk to me, to comfort me, but her voice is so far away that I can't tell what she's saying, so I just ignore her.

It's not like words will help, anyway. They certainly won't bring Clark back, and I know they won't be able to heal the Clark-shaped wound in my soul.

When she realized that she wouldn't get through to me, she decided to try to clean me up by taking a wet rag and wiping the blood from my hands.

I wouldn't let her.

The blood is all I have left of him, now. I know I'll have to wash it away eventually, but not until I'm ready.

* * *

We're back home, in Smallville.

Lois is hovering around me like a mother hen, insisting that I talk to her or at least take a shower, eat something and get some sleep.

I do none of those things, but I'm able to convince her that I've gone to sleep. I can't stand the way she looks at me, like I'm made of glass and about to break.

I'm not fragile, and I'm not going to break.

I can't break, because I'm already broken.

I lie in bed for hours with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Finally, after what feels like forever, Lois has fallen asleep. I can tell by the snoring coming from the chair next to my bed.

As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed and slowly make my way to the kitchen where I grab one of the knives, the sharpest one I can find.

From there, I head to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door once I'm inside.

I hesitate a moment, trying to decide if I want to turn on the light or remain in darkness.

After mulling it over for a few seconds, I decide I want..._need_ to see what's about to happen.

Flicking the switch, I squint my eyes against the sudden brightness.

Once I've adjusted to the change, I look around, taking in the familiar surroundings, the porcelain sink, toilet and bathtub, all white, all pristinely clean and all slightly shining in the florescent light.

The tile floor is cool against my bare feet, and I feel a chill seep through me. I shiver for a moment but shrug it off and make my way to the sink where I look in the mirror.

The face looking back at me looks familiar, but she feels like a stranger.

I've looked into this mirror thousands of times, and I've never felt so disconnected from the image looking back at me. It's like I'm looking through a window, and an identical face is looking back at me, one that isn't mine.

Her eyes are dull and lifeless, her skin is pale, even her hair looks wilted.

She looks miserable.

She looks lost.

She looks like I feel.

I try to remember what I used to look like, try to remember the light in my eyes, the glow of my skin, the bounce in my hair, but I can't.

I try to remember my smile, so bright, so inviting, so full of life, but my mind draws a blank.

I try smiling now, my lips curling up at the corners, my eyes crinkling slightly, but it looks so...artificial, which it is, but seeing it first hand is like seeing death smiling at me, or what I imagine death would look like if it smiled.

Unable to take anymore false jubilance, I drop the smile and return to my more maudlin default expression.

I wonder if I'll ever smile again.

Lois would say, "Of course, you will. It'll just take time."

I'd like to believe that, that, in time, I will smile again, really smile, but I don't believe it.

And now I'm thinking about Clark's smile.

He had so many smiles.

Seems like he had a smile for every occasion, every mood, and I'm pretty sure I saw all of them at one time or another.

The one I liked most, though, was his shy smile, the one he used to give me when I was in a bad mood and he was trying to cheer me up, or when he wanted something and knew I might not feel like helping him.

He was just so disarmingly adorable when he gave me that smile. Hell, it's probably the reason I fell for him in the first place. I never could resist it or him.

Thinking about that smile and picturing it on his face has me smiling, genuinely smiling, and when I notice it in the mirror, I'm immediately horrified.

How can I be smiling when he's dead?

How can I feel even an ounce of happiness when he's gone forever and I'm here without him...alone?

The smile drops from my face, and I feel tears pricking my eyes.

I thought I'd cried myself out, but I was wrong.

The tears slip from my eyes, and I watch as they run down my cheeks before dripping into the sink and slowly run down the drain.

I can see my whole life going down that drain, and before I know what's happening, the knife is against my wrist.

I don't even think about it as the sharp metal slices into my flesh, tearing it apart and allowing the blood to flow from the wound.

There's a brief sting and then red rises from the fresh cut, bubbling up, pooling on the skin before trickling downward, covering my hand, mingling with Clark's dried blood before dripping from my fingers, staining the pristine porcelain crimson.

I watch in rapt fascination as my blood flows from me and down the drain of the sink.

It's like watching my hopes and dreams going down the drain, like watching Clark slip away from me as I held him in my arms.

_"Chloe."_

I hear him call my name. I must be imagining it, but I don't care.

_"Chloe."_

His voice, so soft, inviting and familiar is like a blanket wrapping me in warmth, and I want to burrow deeper into it.

_"Chloe."_

I look from the red stained sink to the mirror, and I see him. He's standing behind me, his hair tousled, his eyes shining brightly with life and affection, his lips curved into that shy smile I adore so much.

I can't help but smile back, really smile, my eyes alight with longing and love.

_"Chloe."_

I hear a clattering sound, kinda metallic, and it vaguely occurs to me that I've dropped the knife, but I couldn't care less, because I'm caught up in Clark's eyes.

_"Chloe."_

I feel a little lightheaded, but that's nothing new where Clark is concerned. He's always had the ability to make me swoon. In fact, I've often thought it was one of his super powers.

_"Chloe."_

The room spins for a second, and I'm disoriented because Clark is gone, and so is my reflection.

It takes a moment, but my head clears enough for me to realize that I'm lying on the tile floor. I look around frantically, searching for Clark, afraid that he's gone, my heart thundering in my chest, the sound echoing in my ears.

_"Chloe."_

I begin to relax at the sound of his voice. He isn't gone. He's still here. He's still with me.

I lay my head against the cool floor and notice my outstretched arm and the pool of red forming around it.

It looks so pretty, shining in the light as it slowly moves along the white floor, turning it the most wonderful shade of crimson.

_"Chloe."_

I'm so tired. I feel like I could sleep for days, maybe forever.

Mmm, I wouldn't mind curling up with Clark in a nice warm bed, snuggling under the covers and sleeping the day away, his arms around me, my head resting on his chest.

Sounds like heaven.

_"Chloe."_

I can't keep my eyes open. I want to, because I want to see his face again, but my eyelids are just too heavy.

I struggle to stay awake for a few more moments, but my vision goes blurry, and my head is swimming.

Finally, I just give up, my eyes slipping shut as I let sleep begin to take me.

_"Chloe."_

I can feel the smile on my lips as I listen to his voice calling my name. It's a wonderful sound, one I could never get tired of hearing, one I hope to hear for the rest of my life.

The rest of my life...spent with Clark...

Sign me up.

_"Chloe."_

I can see his face again, but it's more than that. He's here with me, lying on the cool floor, his strong arms wrapped around me, filling me with warmth.

He's smiling at me, and I feel like I'm weightless, like I'm floating on a cloud.

He's so beautiful, and I love him so much, more than I've ever loved anyone or anything.

I just wanna be with him forever, to be in his arms until the end of time.

_"Chloe."_

He's been saying my name, almost like he's calling me to him, but I haven't answered.

It's time I rectified that.

Still smiling, I look deep into his eyes and reply in a breathy whisper...

_"Clark."_


End file.
